


What Distractions Lead To

by Bowm8935



Series: Fenders Week 2016 [5]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: First Kiss, Gore, M/M, fenris comes to terms with some feelings, injuries, sort of fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7687639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bowm8935/pseuds/Bowm8935
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A distraction in battle ends up with an unconscious Anders. Later, when the ill after-effects of this are seen, Fenris takes matters into his own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Distractions Lead To

**Author's Note:**

> I suuuuuck at titles. Sorry.
> 
> Anyway, this is the last day (I think?) of Fenders Appreciation Week- even if tomorrow counts, I have a wedding so there's no chance of anything then. Hope you enjoyed the series! :)

His blood was pumping, adrenaline coursing through his veins making it seem as though time itself slowed while he moved around the battlefield, performing his deadly dance with a precision those around him could only rival. Lithe arms hefted the large greatsword as though it weighed nothing, slashing through bodies as smoothly as a knife cuts through butter. A flicker of blue, and he was across the field, one hand plunged into the chest of a Tevinter mage, and he felt his fingers wrap around the still-beating heart of the man. Grasping tightly, he yanked hard, the heart ripping from the arteries and veins with a jerk, following the bloody hand out through the gaping hole in the now dead-man’s chest. Without ado, Fenris dropped the organ onto the ground, pivoting quickly to block an attack from behind. Disposing of the swordsman without difficulty, he turned to see how Hawke was doing, and found himself entranced; her long, limber legs carried her through the air as she did a flip to land behind a bowman, twin daggers slicing across his neck before he had time to react. Pirouetting away lightly, she ducked an attack and rolled, cutting the Achilles’ tendon of the offending party as she went, causing them to drop to their knees. A quick thrust finished the attacker off, and she turned to see his large green eyes staring at her in awe. He watched her eyes widen and saw her mouth move, calling out one single word: “FENRIS!”

Too late he heard the noise from behind him, the sword slipping through his midsection. Before the slaver with the mad grin on his face had a chance to finish him off, he was yanked away by tendrils of green; Merrill with her Keeper magic, vines wrapping around the slaver to strangle him. Fenris fell to his knees, steady hands curling around the handle of the sword, sliding it out carefully. He tossed the blood-covered steel on the ground, contemplating the hole in his stomach that was oozing blood. The hair on his arms stood as the pinprick of healing magic started, and he looked up, ears flattened with a snarl on his face as the blonde mage ran toward him.

“Stay. Away. From. Me,” he spat out, fear mixed with anger punctuating every word. Anders shook his head as he crouched down, swatting away Fenris’ hands.

“Now is not the time for your hatred of mages to come into play,” the smooth voice said. “Let me heal you, or you will die, you stubborn elf.”

Fenris stilled, though he still bared his teeth at the man in front of him. Spending all of his life- what he could remember, anyway- in Tevinter had given him a deep distrust of magic of any kind, and of those who wield it. He watched Anders carefully, wary of any hidden agenda the mage may have in helping him. When the pale hands reached out to touch the raw flesh, he hissed, pain ricocheting through his body. “Venhedis!” he wheezed through clenched teeth, doing his best not to show how badly it hurt him.

A frown encompassed Anders’ face as his brows knitted together, and Fenris felt a stronger surge of magic flow between them. “What is it, mage?” he growled, disliking the way the man in front of him seemed to be draining of color.

“It’s just…taking…a bit more…than… I expected…” Anders said faintly, swaying slightly. There was a swell of the magic, then Fenris felt his skin start to knit together. Before the job could be finished, however, the connection was severed as a sharp crack thundered from behind Anders. Fenris reached out quickly to catch the mage as he fell forward, struck unconscious from the pommel of an axe. Fenris turned his gaze upward to meet the woman responsible for it, a sneer written across her face. Laying Anders gently down, Fenris grasped the shaft of his sword, rising to his feet without breaking eye contact with the large kossith in front of him, her white horns standing proudly apart from her black hair. He stepped around the unconscious man in front of him, circling her, assessing as she did the same. He sprung forward suddenly, sword out in an attack she easily parried. He had been counting on it, for as she stepped back, he activated his brands and charged forward, solidifying once his frame was inside of her body. An explosion of gore followed, blood spraying around the area as skin and organs went flying in every direction, leaving an elf in its wake, dripping from head to toe in the sticky red substance. Without sparing a glance at the two women in his wake who’s mouths had dropped open, pure fear on their faces, he strode forward, sheathing his sword on his back and bending over to pick up the mage. Tossing him over his shoulder, he about-faced and marched back in the direction of Kirkwall.

~*~

It was Diamondback night, and Fenris was pleased with his winnings. The group was starting to dissipate, Isabela pulling Merrill to her room while the small elf blushed furiously, giggling and hiccupping the entire way. Hawke had left with Sebastian, his arm around her shoulders as she leaned into him, using him as her anchor while she tried to drunkenly maneuver her way down the stairs. Aveline and Donnic had retired earlier in the evening, pleading early shifts in the morning that required their sleep tonight. Even Carver had shown up sans Templar gear, falling back into the easy back-and-forth jibes he and his sister shared. He had followed Hawke and Sebastian out, stating he needed to get back to the Gallows before curfew, but everyone knew he just wanted to make sure his sister was delivered home safely.

This left Varric, Anders and Fenris, the dwarf heading down to the bar for a last pint of ale, he said. Fenris stood to leave, curious as to why the mage was still sitting, staring at the table with a forlorn expression on his face. Ever since the battle a few weeks ago where he had been knocked unconscious, Anders would occasionally act stranger than usual. Fenris found himself unwillingly concerned for the man, which generally led into anger over being concerned for the wellbeing of a mage followed by the consumption of copious amounts of wine in his dilapidated mansion.

Tonight, though, tonight he was just drunk enough to let slip what he was thinking.

“Are you well, Anders? You seem…troubled.” Anders’ head whirled around to look at him, shock evident in his features. Fenris was unsure if it was due to the use of his name or the fact he was bothering to speak to him, but it was there, nonetheless.

“I am fine,” the mage replied, eyebrows raised. Fenris let out a long-suffering sigh and sat back down, placing his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together. He set his chin on top of his hands, narrowing his eyes at Anders, who lowered his gaze and fidgeted a bit. When Anders looked back up, Fenris simply cocked an eyebrow, waiting. He knew how this man worked.

“Oh, fine!” Anders burst out, gesticulating about wildly. “Ever since I received that nasty knock to my head, I get dizzy spells randomly. Tonight just happens to be my lucky night.” He roughly grabbed his cup of cider and took a long swig from it, wiping away the residue off his lips with the back of a hand.

Fenris tilted his head, considering this. “Those who imbibe too much alcohol can generally maneuver their way about the city without much care; is this not true of you, even in such a state?” He was genuinely curious about how a simple bout of dizziness could stop someone as stubborn as Anders.

“No, Fenris, it is not true of me. When this happens, I can’t stand up, let alone walk,” Anders sighed exasperatedly. Then, as if he needed to prove the point, he pushed back his chair, hands shaking in a way that made Fenris’ ears twitch in worry. Taking a deep breath, he stood up, still for a few seconds before blanching and swaying dangerously. Fenris shot out of his chair to catch the man before he toppled over, suddenly feeling very sober. Anders gave him a weak smile as he sat him back in the chair, his face slightly pinker than before.

Fenris bit the inside of his cheek in thought. “How long do these episodes last, in general?” he asked slowly, a finger lightly tapping on his chin as a thought crossed his mind. Whether or not Anders would go for it was another matter entirely.

“Um, they can last anywhere between a few hours to a few days, depending on the severity. Why? Concerned you won’t have anyone to gripe about anymore?” Fenris ignored the jibe, simply watching Anders thoughtfully. He had plenty of room in his mansion for another person, with bedrooms on the main floor, even. While in this condition, Anders could not be expected to walk anywhere, let alone to Darktown to his clinic. If he was there, he’d probably try to heal even though he obviously should refrain from such activities. Eyeing the haggard frame of the man, he tacked on the fact that Anders doesn’t each as much as he should, and most likely doesn’t at all when like this. Plus, he was right down the street from Hawke, who would do anything she could to help.

But did he really wish to have someone live with him? Especially someone as annoying, whiny and overall bothersome as the mage in front of him?

He dithered for a few more minutes before making up his mind. “You shall come back to the mansion with me, then,” he stated in a tone that brooked no argument. Anders frowned, opening his mouth to undoubtedly argue, but Fenris spoke over him. “No, this is not up for discussion. You are ill, and need help. You were injured because I was distracted in battle, and thus it is my duty to take care of you.” Anders’ mouth snapped shut and he peered at Fenris, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. A small flash of heat raced through Fenris at the sight as he briefly wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips. He shook his head, scattering the unwelcome intrusion, and held out one lyrium-lined hand. “Now, give me your arm, please, so that we may leave.”

After a pregnant pause, Anders obliged him, and Fenris placed the pale arm around his shoulders, hoisting the man up and sliding his other arm around the too-thin waist. Steps careful and slow, he eased him down the stairs to the main floor of the bar. Before long they were slipping out into the chilled air of Lowtown, and Fenris had found a rhythm that allowed them to move at a decent pace. Focusing on the path ahead and keeping the man beside him standing, Fenris plowed forward silently.

“Why are you helping me?” Anders asked meekly, and Fenris glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He was pale and shaking, working as hard as Fenris to try to remain upright. Fenris tightened his grip on his waist, not wanting to make things worse.

“That is not a discussion to have presently. I am too focused on making sure we arrive safely at the mansion to converse properly, as you should be.” He saw the slight bob of Anders’ head in agreement in his peripheral vision, and he renewed his focus as they approached the stairs to Hightown. They climbed slowly, one step at a time, pausing whenever Anders would sway too much for Fenris’ liking.

The trip passed quickly after they hit the top of the stairs, Anders’ relief seeming to make his legs work better. Soon they were at the unlocked door, and Fenris pushed it open with a foot, pulling Anders inside. He halted at the entrance to a bedroom, realizing he had not thought this through enough; yes, he had bedrooms aplenty, but they were all lacking one major necessary component: beds.

  
“Kaffas,” he muttered under his breath as he swung them around to head to the stairs to the master bedroom. Anders gave him a questioning glance as they climbed the small set of stairs, but Fenris chose to ignore it. Finally they reached his bed, shoved into a corner and mussed up. Lowering the man to the mattress, Fenris pulled back and scratched at his forehead, mildly embarrassed. “Sorry, I was not expecting company,” he muttered, rocking back on his heel when Anders burst out laughing.

“Evidently not,” Anders chortled, looking around the room. “I don’t think you’ve bothered to remove so much as a cobweb since we kicked out those slaves so many years ago.” Fenris snorted in amusement; this was indeed true. He had never felt any desire to clean the place, as it was not really his.

“Well, I will leave you be, then. Please yell if you need anything; I will be within earshot,” he said stiffly, turning to head to the lone couch he could sleep on.

“Fenris, wait,” came the soft request, and he froze, wary of what was to come. “Thank you for helping me. I appreciate it, I really do. And please don’t take this the wrong way but I must know: why are you? Helping me, that is?” Fenris turned to see Anders watching him, recoiling slightly at the completely unguarded look he found. Swallowing past the sudden dryness in his throat, he considered his answer. Before he had the chance to respond, Anders spoke up again. “You’ve made it very clear that you hate me, so I just need to understand what is at work here.”

He blinked slowly as the words sunk in. “I do not hate you,” he replied, locking eyes with Anders. It was true; he no longer felt the vehement animosity toward the mage as he had in the beginning. As time went on and Hawke continued to insist both accompany her on quests, he had found it starting to be replaced with a sort of… fondness, perhaps? He had fought the feeling, true enough, and continued to bait Anders as the opportunity arose, mostly because he had no idea how else to proceed. But hate…that was no longer an emotion he felt in regards to Anders.

Anders let out a brittle laugh, a bitter smirk overtaking his face. “I find that hard to believe. You are adamantly against everything that I am: mage, abomination. You constantly say we don’t deserve freedom, that we’re all dangerous. It is obviously how you feel toward me, if for no other reason that what I was born as.”

Fenris moved so fast he barely had time to register what he was doing. He was in Anders’ face, snarling “I do. Not. Hate. You,” looking into stunned eyes one moment, and the next he was on top of the mage, having pushed him into the bed and was giving him a punishing kiss. He felt Anders freeze underneath of him in shock, pulling him back to the present to realize what he was doing. Before he could move away, the mage softened underneath of him, hands reaching up to tangle in his hair and pull him closer. It was Fenris’ turn to stiffen, confused and dazed by both his own actions as well as Anders’. A tongue lapped at his lower lip before teeth nibbled at it, and he surrendered into the kiss, opening his mouth to let Anders inside. Their tongues met and danced, Fenris moaning at the feeling.

When they broke to breathe, Fenris pulled back, cocking his head to the side to look at Anders. “I do not hate you,” he whispered breathlessly, a small smile tugging at the sides of his lips.

Anders shifted underneath of him, looking up beneath his eyelashes. “You have a funny way of showing it,” he replied, returning the smile. “But if it leads me to your bed, then I think I could get used to it.”

Fenris chuckled, leaning down to press another kiss against the mage’s lips. “Perhaps it does,” he breathed against Anders’ ear, and he felt the shivers that ran down the man’s spine. “But tonight,” he continued, rolling off the bed, lifting a hand to silence the complaints that were about to spill from Anders’ lips. “Tonight, you need to rest and recover. I will not tolerate having a sick mage about for longer than necessary.”

Anders wrinkled his nose, letting out a small huff of annoyance. “And tomorrow?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Fenris’ smile turned wicked, and Anders’ eyes widened at the sight. “Tomorrow,” Fenris growled, voice low and husky. “If you are well, then I shall show you in every manner I know how exactly how much I do not hate you.” Without waiting for a response, he flipped around and strolled out the door, but not before he heard the very audible swallow come from the mage’s direction.

Yes, he thought he had made the right decision by bringing him here.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Did you love it? Did you... *gasp* hate it? Let me know! I'm always open for reviews, comments and helpful criticism.  
> I'm here to grow. :)
> 
> You can also find me on Tumblr as StarlingHawke


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